Beneath a Moonless Sky
by VirulentVampyre
Summary: Christine finds herself struggling to adapt to life as a future Vicomtesse. On the night before her wedding, she makes a life changing decision to seek out the man who truly holds her heart. MA for future chapters. (This was intended to be a lemon, filler-story with only a couple chapters. But if people like it enough and request more, I'll happily turn it into a full AU story!)
1. Chapter 1

Weeks had passed since the Palais Garnier burnt down and during that time, Christine Daaé, struggled to adjust to her new life in the de Changy Manor. In less than a day now, she would become a young vicomtesse. The idea of it grew less exciting by the day.

"Ooohf" Christine huffed, her hands clutching at the corset of her dress.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle". Camille apologized, having pulled the corset laces too tight.

Camille was but a seventeen-year-old girl, a servant to the house. She was rather pretty with golden, blonde locks that were secured in a bonnet, a slim face and eyes as blue as the ocean. Her poor family sent her to the de Changy Manor for work when she was just fifteen years of age. Upon Christine's arrival, she had been assigned to her as a personal hand maiden. Christine politely informed her fiancée that she had no need for such a service, but he insisted. Camille didn't mind waiting on Christine. She found her to be quite pleasant and over the past couple of weeks the two women formed a sort of friendship.

Camille took a step back to scrutinize Christine's gown. She reached out and grabbed the back bunch of the dress.

"I'll just need to pin the ends. It shan't be much longer now" She knelt down, pulling a pin from behind her ear.

Christine stared back at her reflection in the mirror before her. She donned a gorgeous, white-laced, wedding gown. The floral designs danced up the sleeves of her dress, meeting just under her collarbone and along her corset. Layers of material and small embedded diamonds adorned the fabric that draped over the pedestal in which she stood on. She was truly breathtaking.

She focused on her eyes. Her green hues lacked the sparkle in which they held during her early youth. They were sadder, exposing the longing in her soul. She loved Raoul, truly she did, but something was lacking between them. The passion seemed to have hit a stand still upon her arrival to the manor. During the past weeks, she had grown distant, her heart and mind elsewhere. Getting married and embarking on a life of aristocracy was without even a shred of delight. Why did she feel this way? After all, she did love Raoul….didn't she?

Camille noticed Christine's expression in the mirror. Her brows furrowed.

"Madame, is something troubling you?" She inquired, continuing her work on the dress.

Christine was quick to snap out of it. She forced a smile.

"I appreciate your concern, Camille. I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired, I suppose." Christine folded her arms in front of her.

"I'm just about finished here. Then you can go rest up."

Another servant hurried into the room and to Christine's side. His arm extended an envelope in her direction.

"Mail for you, Madame." He bowed his head.

Christine gave him a quizzical look. Mail? For her?

"Thank you." She spoke as she took the envelope into her hands.

The servant departed, and Christine freed the letter from its confinements. She quickly unfolded it and began reading. Her face lit up.

 _My Dear Christine,_

 _Oh, how I miss you! I was waiting until mother and I were settled before writing you. It's been hectic for us since the fire. I promise you, we are managing though. We are temporarily settled in a cottage within the Vincennes Woods, just east of the Lac Daumesnil. Hopefully not for too long. Mother forbid me to disclose our location, but I thought you should know, my friend. I'm telling you this incase you'd like to come visit me, without mother knowing of course. I understand if you cannot, with your wedding and all. A future congratulations to both you and Raoul._

 _Just one more thing, Christine. Repeat this to no one, as I only tell you because you'd want me too. He's with us. He's alive. Please burn this letter._

 _\- Your dearest friend, Meg Giry._

Christine's breath caught in her throat. She crushed the letter to her chest with dear life. Camille stood up, her hand tenderly touching Christine's back.

"Is something troubling you?" Camille's eyes fell to the letter.

"No, it's just…personal matters." Christine said with breathless haste. "Help me out of this dress? I'm feeling faint and would like to retreat to my room."

"Certainly." Camille started to unlace the back of the garment.

Christine bit down on her lip to cease its trembling. Her small fist balled the letter up at her side.

* * *

Flames of the fire licked at its stone confinements. Varying hues of orange and blue intermingled in a graceful dance. The flames reflected off Miss Daaé's glistening eyes as she gazed into the fireplace. She sat on her knees, one hand placed firmly against the cold stone, the other clutching the wrinkled letter. She let the piece of parchment slip into the fire place, watching as the heat consumed it. It shriveled, broke and blackened within seconds.

There was a sudden and loud knock at the door, causing Christine to jump in fright.

"Christine?" The voice called.

Christine got up from her place and moved to the door. She opened it to reveal Raoul on the other side. He immediately entered the room, subtle suspicion rested in his features.

"We missed you at supper. Is something the matter?" He inquired, his hand resting at her arm.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just felt a bit ill and needed to rest. I promise you, I feel much better now." She smiled reassuringly.

"As long as you're okay." He pulled her in for a hug, his expression remained with unease. "Christine?" He smelled slightly of brandy as he spoke by her ear.

"Yes, my love?"

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

With wide-eyes and a gasp, she pulled away from her fiancée, her hands placed flat at his chest.

"Raoul, how can you even say that? Of course, I'm not." She nearly choked on her own words. She wasn't really offended that he had asked that. She was scared that he had good reason too.

"I just want to be certain." Raoul took her hands into his own. "You've seemed….distant…these past few days."

"I'm still adjusting to this lifestyle is all. It's new for me. So different from the opera house." She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll grow accustomed to it. I'm sure." Raoul lifted her knuckles to his lips and planted a gentle kiss. "Until tomorrow, Little Lottie".

And with that, he was gone. The door closed behind him. Christine stood there, alone. Her heart aching as she felt like she had just deceived him.

* * *

Night fell over the de Changy Manor, casting a sheet of darkness over the property. Christine gazed out her bedroom window at the moonless and starless sky. Dark clouds hovered above, threatening rain.

Tomorrow she would be wed and everything that she once knew would be different. This was an occasion in which she should be happy, but to tell the truth, she was frightened. It felt as if there were too many loose ends to tie and duties to fulfill before she made this next step. That's when she knew. She needed to see _him_ one last time.

There was no guarantee that the Girys would remain in the same place for too long and Christine and Raoul would be away on their honeymoon for at least a couple of weeks. She would have to go tonight, there was no other choice. It'd be now or never.

Christine turned away from the window and retrieved a dress draped over her divider.

* * *

Christine was fastening the button of her cloak when a gentle knock occurred at the door. She froze.

"Who is it?" She called.

"Camille." The small voice replied. "I'm turning in for the night, Madame. I wanted to see if there was anything you needed before I do."

Christine pursed her lips in thought. She really hoped she could trust Camille. Christine went to the door and opened it slightly. Camille looked at her with confusion, observing her cloak.

"Are you-uh going out?" She inquired.

"There's something I must do." Christine replied in a hushed tone. "Please, I need your help. This is important."

Camille hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to get involved with anything that might anger the Vicomte. However, Christine had shown her nothing but kindness upon her arrival. It'd be unfair to refuse her new friend.

"What can I assist with?" She succumbed.

Christine sighed with relief and pulled Camille into her room, closing the door behind.

"I need you to fetch a horse from the stables and have it ready for me by the gate. Don't let anyone see you and if they do, I trust you'll have a clever lie. You mustn't tell anyone that I've gone, especially not Raoul."

Camille nodded her head obediently. A sadness overcame her eyes as she looked back up at Christine.

"Will you not return?" Camille's voice nearly cracked.

It broke Christine's heart, considering that no one else in the house treated Camille with as much kindness as she did.

"I'll be back before morning." Those words stabbed Christine like a piercing knife. She spoke them with such uncertainty. "Has Raoul gone to bed?" She asked.

"No, not yet. He's in the study with Count Philippe." Camille said uneasily.

"Drinking, no doubt." Christine muttered.

"I mean…it is a time of celebration, is it not?" Camille looked at her questioningly.

Christine sighed, reluctant to respond to that.

"Please you must hurry. I haven't much time." She opened the door for Camille, who nodded and hurried down the hall.

* * *

While Camille saddled and led the white stallion to the property gates, Christine watched from her bedroom window. She waited for the right moment before slipping out of the room. The last servant inside the house had retired for the night, leaving the halls free of prying eyes. She tiptoed past the study, in which the door was cracked open. Orange light flickered from the door's opening and the sound of drunken laughter could be heard from within. Going unnoticed, Christine released a sigh of relief once she had passed it.

The cold air of the night stung Christine's exposed skin as she stepped outside. Her delicate fingers moved the hood of her cloak over her head, blocking the wind from further assaulting her face. She took off running toward the gate, certain that no one was around to see her.

Once Christine arrived, Camille grabbed the reign of the horse, steadying him. She helped Christine up onto the stallion and then ran over to the gate. With all her strength, she pulled the heavy metal bars back, praying that their rattling sound wouldn't stir the Manor's occupants. Christine gave Camille one last look and a grateful smile.

"Thank you." She mouthed the words. Christine slapped the reigns and the horse took off galloping into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

"But Mother…" The words came out in an exasperated whimper while Meg tailed at the heels of Madame Giry.

"Enough, Meg!" Giry spun round in one swift motion. Her towering stature loomed over the small girl. Heat filled her eyes. Her nails dug into a brown package that she held, much like a hawk with its talons sinking into the flesh of fallen prey.

Meg stumbled back a step as to not collide with her mother's frame. She stared up timidly, noticing she'd finally struck that last nerve. The fight was over and Meg's eyes fell to the floor in defeat.

"We leave tonight and that is final. I will not hear another word about it. Do you understand?" Madame Giry vilely hissed the words, her patience running dry. Meg could only muster up a slight nod of her head.

"Good. Now return to your chambers and finish packing. We mustn't leave any trace of us behind."

Meg kept her head low and she quietly turned away. Her mother relaxed her tensed frame, preparing to retreat to the other end of the cottage. Meg stopped at the door frame.

"What about… _him_?" Her inquiry escaped her lips in the softest of whispers, just audible enough for Madame Giry to hear.

"He will join us at a later time. Now go."

Meg averted her somber eyes once more and disappeared behind the door. With pursed lips and crows feet that indicated stress more than age, Madame Giry watched her depart. Silence befell the room, leaving Giry alone with her troubled thoughts. She took a moment to let the aggravation subside before carrying her unmarked package over to a side door.

The end of winter air greeted her as she stepped outside, her boots carefully descending a couple of stone steps. They brought her directly to a basement door that was hardly recognizable as a patch of remaining snow and discarded branches discretely concealed it. Madame Giry brushed the debris away with her hand. She yanked the heavy door open and was greeted with the faint illumination of a single flickering candle. Unmounting it from the wall, she followed its light down to the bottom of the abyss.

* * *

"Cold, bleak, desolate"…Erik muttered, spitting out each descriptor with a disgruntled groan. The cloaked figure aggressively scrawled his quill across a piece of paper, summoning notes that would pertain to the adjective spilling from his twisted mouth in that moment. The flicker of the candle would occasionally illuminate the exposed side of his face. Harsh shadows outlined his eyebrow which furrowed in frustrated concentration. His upper lip had set into a remaining snarl. A trembling hand jabbed at the weakening parchment until there was a swift snap of his quill, the point breaking clean off. A guttural groan slipped between his teeth and morphed into an angry howl. He ripped the sheet of paper and its contents from the desk in which he sat. It landed on the floor, amidst a pile of previously rejected, crumpled sheets of music. The Phantom slipped his face into the palms of his hands as he felt the sinister demon of defeat wash through him.

His muse was gone and therefore, so was his music. His one purpose for living left an absent hole in his heart, leaving him to ponder why he didn't let the mob seal his fate. Madame Giry insisted that his genius wasn't one to be wasted; the world should hear and know of his creations someday. Surely, she couldn't have been that convincing. After all, Don Juan proved that his art would never be accepted, much like his cursid face. No, perhaps it was something else that convinced him to go on. Hope. That last sliver of hope, barely hanging by its final, frail thread. Hope that he might someday, somehow, be reunited with her…

"Ha!" An aggressive laugh erupted in a sputter of saliva and heated breath. What a fool he thought himself to be. She made her choice and he his. There was no chance that she'd ever give up a life of status and normality for an abomination like himself. She was better off and Erik knew it. He could never condemn her to his dark fate and it was those last moments spent with her that made him realize that. That kiss...His hand hovered over his lips, almost certain that he could still feel the warmth of her own, as if they had permanently engraved their mark into him. A sob built in his throat and he choked it back with a cough. Hadn't he wasted enough tears on her?

' _It's in the past now_.' He thought to himself. ' _Let her go_ '.

The click and squeal of a hinge from above alerted the Phantom of Madame Giry's presence. He stiffened in his seat and was quick to compose himself. He kept his back to the door, eyes glaring at the wall. The single candle in the room cast him as a haunting silhouette in the corner, barely noticeable as a man to the naked eye. Madame Giry approached him, stopping a few feet from where he was positioned. Her own candle lit the scene up enough for her to notice the pile of discarded sheet music on the ground, to which she frowned. She cleared her throat.

"I fetched this in town for you today." Her hand stretched the brown package out to him.

"What is it?" He spoke disinterestedly, barely turning his head.

"Well come now, see for yourself."

He sighed and pulled himself up from the makeshift desk. His eyes appeared darker and bleaker in the harsh lighting conditions. He glanced at Giry for a moment before letting his glare fall to the package. She placed it into his hands and pulled free the string that held it. Erik unwrapped the paper, revealing a wig head with a neatly groomed, dark, brown mass of hair. He removed it and placed the mannequin head on the desk. Erik somberly stared down at the hair in silence. Madame Giry raised an inquisitive brow as she awaited his response.

"Thank you…" He finally muttered.

Turning his back to her, he removed his mask and fit the wig over his head. When he placed the mask back on, a sigh of relief escaped his parted lips. He'll never know true normality, but having a wig again helped him feel less of a monster. By the time he turned around, Madame Giry had already retrieved an envelope from her coat pocket.

"Take this." She placed it into his hand. "They're directions. You'll go to that location this time tomorrow night. I'll see to it that you're escorted from there to Calais."

Erik nodded and slipped the envelope into the pocket of his trousers.

"Meg and I leave this evening. I trust you'll be careful in our absence."

The Phantom only offered her another lifeless nod. He stared coldly at the stone ground, seemingly at nothing. Madame Giry gave him a sympathetic once-over before taking her que to leave. Erik looked up in her direction just before she graced the first step of stairs.

"Annette…" The mention of Giry's first name caught her off guard. She looked back at Erik to find a sincere look had settled in his expression. "Thank you." He Whispered.

* * *

Christine administered another nudge of her heel into the Stallion's side, thrusting him into a forceful gallop. With every kick she was met with the prickling sting of iced air on her face. A sudden gust of wind yanked her hood free from the clip buried in her curly locks, letting it flap and trail behind her. She couldn't be bothered to fix it as time was truly of the essence. It was nearing midnight and the servants would be up by the crack of dawn, ready to awaken her in preparations for the nearing ceremony.

A sign flashed by her peripheral vision, signaling that she was approaching the Lac Daumesnil. Meg failed to provide Christine with a map or much direction aside from mentioning they were east of the lake. Finding the cottage was all up to chance at that point. She whispered silent prayers to herself, hoping her father would offer some guidance in her time of need. She couldn't let this chance to say goodbye slip away, no matter how wrong it felt. Christine knew she had to see _him_.

The cluster of trees began to crowd in, signaling that Christine was in the heart of the woods. She slowed her steed to a steady trot, avoiding constant obstacles of low leaning branches and uprooted trunks. With an abrupt halt, Christine spotted a makeshift trail off to her right, leading to the lake no doubt. The tightness in her gut told her to continue through the maze of trees. The Giry's wouldn't have been so obvious as to hide by a trail or the lake itself. Not if they were hiding a hunted man. Trying her luck, Christine directed the horse onward.

The night grew darker the further she went; the trees swallowing her into their menacing mounds of branches. Far from Paris lights and without moonlight to guide her way, she could feel the anxiety of the forest creeping into her own being. Hopelessness began to set in when she realized she was completely blind in her dense surroundings. Meanwhile, the poor animal beneath her had spooked to the sudden jolt of rustling bushes and a small critter running by. It let out a devastated neigh and halted against Christine's desperate nudges. She cooed at the horse, stroking his mane soothingly.

About ready to give up in her seemingly failed endeavors, she noticed the contrast in the blackness up ahead. She could just make out the outline of a structure… A cottage perhaps? It was enough to enlist a grateful gasp from her small frame. She slid down the side of the horse, wrapped his reigns in one gentle hand and guided him forward. Sensing her confidence, it followed willingly.

Christine approached the residence, now fully visible to her newly adjusted eyes. She tied the stallion to the trough out front and peeked in the nearest window. Something wasn't right. The house seemed vacated with nothing inside except for one measly wood table and a couple of accompanying chairs. The fireplace was darkened with ash and fresh logs were all but absent. There was no sign that anyone was currently inhabiting the home. Christine rushed over to the front entrance. To her dismay, she found the door slightly ajar and carriage tracks that led from the front of the house and into the woods. She was too late.

Her stomach twisted in on her as the dread of reality set in. This had been all for nothing. Tomorrow she'd be wed and with no chance of saying goodbye to her once former friend, tutor and angel whom she felt so much more than pity for. Her legs seemed to have gravitated to the ground, her fists clutching at the fabric around her waist. A sob built in her chest, threatening to make its presence known. Everything in her mind told her that she shouldn't feel this way; that she should return to the manor immediately and forget this whole ordeal. Yet it didn't lessen the ache in her heart.

A faint glow peaked around the corner of the house, drawing Christine's attention away from her own silent cries. It appeared the Giry's had left one of the outdoor lanterns lit. Christine pulled herself up from the ground, figuring she could at least use the lantern to guide her way back to the manor. With a slow saunter, she approached the corner and retrieved the lantern from its post. Unfortunately, it had nearly burnt down to the last of the wick. It would provide only mere minutes of light before giving its last breath. With a sigh, she chose to accept the current circumstances.

Just about to return to her waiting horse, Christine heard the faint humming of a tune all too familiar. She stopped dead in her tracks, her breath hitched in her throat as she listened. The humming merged into an angelic tenor that made enticing promises.

 _ **Softly, deftly music shall caress you…**_

As sweet as it was to the naked ear, the voice carried a somber layer of hurt. It was enough to trigger another crack within Christine's heart.

 _ **Hear it, feel it secretly possess you...**_

 _'It can't be.'_ She thought, frozen from the sudden pounding of her heart. The voice didn't cease. It was as clear as day and she was certain it wasn't simply in her mind. _He's here._

 _ **Open up your mind….**_

She found herself overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia and greeted by a trance that led her feet forward from where she stood. A wistful gaze and parted lips searched ahead for the voice which called to her.

 _ **...let your fantasies unwind…**_

The fleeting light of her lantern guided her around the cottage. There she discovered the door, the wood thin and worn, releasing the Angel's cries through its splintered cracks.

 _ **In this darkness that you know you cannot fight…**_

She pulled up the hinge and opened the cellar door. Immediately, she was greeted by cold stone and a blanket of darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. And so she went, down once more to the dungeon of his black despair.

 _ **The darkness of the music of the night...**_


End file.
